Uncharted Waters
by soulbound nun
Summary: The Hunger Games have always served as a reminder to Annie Cresta of her mother, who years ago became a victor and later died in tragedy. But the odds might not be in her favor when she is forced to face what haunts her most. Pre-series Finnick/Annie.
1. Chapter 1

**Uncharted Waters**

**summary:** For the past five years, sixteen-year-old Annie Cresta has feared being reaped into the Hunger Games, the deadly tournament that serves as a reminder of her mother, who years ago became a victor and died in tragedy. But the odds might not be in her favor as she finds herself facing the one thing that haunts her most. Pre-series Finnick/Annie.

_**The Hunger Games**_ **© Suzanne Collins**

* * *

><p><strong>PART I: THE REAPING<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>(1)<strong>_

* * *

><p>A pebble taps at my window and rouses me from my sleep. My eyes flutter open and I sit up. I scoot out of bed and glance out from the crack in my curtains. A smile forms on my face. I turn and search in the darkness for the nook that hangs my beige coat and my leather sandals sitting beneath it. After I wrap the coat over my nightgown and slide on my sandals, I quietly open my door, careful not to open it all the way because the creakiness of metal would betray me. I slip into the hallway that is illuminated by a dim, blue nightlight inserted into the wall. I'm too old for a nightlight in my bedroom, but my little brother Todd is comforted by the miniscule lantern when he takes a trip to the bathroom. I look over my shoulder and listen. All I hear are faint breathing coming from Uncle Luke and Little Todd's rooms. They are both sound asleep.<p>

I spin around to make my leave when something catches my eye. For a split-second, I think I see a ghost. She has twisted, dark hair clinging to her face, her skin is pale and ghastly, and her mouth is slightly open and is neither a smile nor a frown. At first, I think it is my mother, my hauntingly beautiful and dead mother. It takes me a moment to realize it's _me_. It is my reflection in the hallway mirror. I take in a breath in an effort to calm myself. Uncle Luke always did say that I looked like Mother. But I never want to be anything like her. I'm nothing like her.

I hastily escape the house before I waste any more time chasing ghosts and make my way to the side of the street where Maria Mayflower is waiting for me. Maria Mayflower is my oldest and dearest friend. I call her Mari for short. She wears a red hoodie, shorts, and socks and slippers. Whitish blonde hair rolls over her shoulders in curls and light freckles sprinkle over her cheeks in a delicate fashion. Mari's skin is tanned and freckled too, but then again, it's difficult to find someone who hasn't been kissed by the sun in District 4.

We greet each other and walk to our usual spot, the docks by the beach. We sit by the edge with clumps of rocks and pebbles in our hands that we gathered along the way and begin chucking them into the water. This is Mari's and my silent tradition of saying farewell to each other the day before the reaping ever since we were both twelve-years-old. I know that the chances of our names getting selected aren't plentiful, but for all I know, either one of us could get reaped tomorrow. It doesn't bother me too much since every year somebody tries to volunteer for whomever that gets reaped anyway, either at the prospect of becoming potential victors or, for the girls, the prospect of being mentored by our previous victor, Finnick Odair.

I remember the year Finnick Odair was reaped. I was twelve-years-old, a few months shy from thirteen, and it was Mari's and my first year at the reaping. I held her hand the entire time. I felt so afraid that I'd be reaped, so suffocated from being surrounded by so many people at one time, and so nauseous and on the verge of either tears or puking when I heard our escort call out for "Maria Mayflower." Mari and I just stood there like statues, unable to move, unable to think. People were staring at us, I was sure, probably more so at Mari than me, but I didn't have time to process this. Any of this. I couldn't face looking at Mari either, seeing what kind of expression she might have on her face. Mari was like me. Different. Not wanting to be reaped and never in the world dreaming to volunteer to do so. Of course, we each had our reasons—very different ones, though. Mari's parents are dead and she lives with her grandparents, who don't work anymore. She's an only child and the only one in her family that can get tessera now that she was old enough. In a few years, she'd be able to get a job and support them. If she was reaped and killed in the Games, she'd be leaving her only remaining family all alone.

And yet fate was cruel and Mari was chosen. I could hear a gut wrenching cry from the audience behind us. Mari's grandmother, perhaps? I didn't know. I didn't want to see her expression either. I could see the Peacekeepers heading their way towards us, inching closer and closer. Mari's hand was sweaty and clung to mine as if it was life itself. I squeezed her hand back and for that single moment I thought of no one but her, and I found myself mouthing, "I volunteer. I volunteer." It was like a dream. I could scarcely believe the words that were threatening to come out of my mouth. This seemed to go unnoticed by everything but Mari, who quickly covered my mouth with her free hand before I got any ideas. Our eyes finally met, both desperate and teary-eyed, and she was about to untangle our intertwined hands and I was about to lose her forever when another girl, an older one perhaps fifteen or sixteen, yelled out the words that I was unable to say. Soon, it became a sort of chant because a few other girls started to volunteer too, and soon our whole crowd started buzzing with an undeterminable number of voices. Eventually, the first girl who volunteered was selected, and Mari and I finally calmed down.

By the time the male tribute was going to be reaped, Finnick Odair volunteered himself before a name could be drawn. Usually, you would have to wait until someone was actually reaped and for the escort to ask if there were any volunteers first, but something about fourteen-year-old Finnick Odair's boldness and charisma pierced our district escort as well as everyone else. Even I was a little surprised. The only person who didn't seem too enthralled by Finnick Odair's enthusiasm was our previous victor then, as well as our oldest victor, Mags. If I didn't know any better, she almost looked a little sad. I didn't understand why. Volunteering during the reaping is looked proudly upon in District 4. But Mags was anything but proud.

It's been almost five years since then. I'm sixteen-years-old now. I'll be seventeen in a few months. _Two more years_, I think. Two more years until I'm nineteen. Two more years until they won't be able to call my name. Until I won't be eligible for the Games. Until I'm safe for good.

We continue chucking rocks for a while longer until Mari finally breaks the ice. "Maybe… I should volunteer tomorrow," she says.

It takes me a moment to take in what she had just said. "What?" I ask.

"I know what you're thinking, but hear me out," she continues quietly. No, Mari does not know what I'm thinking. Because I'm not thinking at all. The very idea of her volunteering doesn't compute well with me. I frown, but I say nothing and let her speak. "It's hard, okay? Working shifts and juggling academy classes. My grandparents are really depending on me. If I won, they could live in luxury. I'd be able to pay them back in full and more for all the years they've taken care of me."

"We've talked about this," I remind her. "You never wanted to get reaped because of your grandparents."

"And now I want to volunteer because of them," Mari says.

"The arena changes people, Mari." I know this more than anyone.

Mari shakes her head. "Exactly. Look at what happened to Finnick! He's fine!"

I roll my eyes. Of course, Finnick Odair looks fine. He spends most of his time getting lavished by the Capitol when he's not mentoring kids to their inevitable doom. I really don't see what Mari and the rest of Panem see in Finnick Odair besides his looks and charm. "But sometimes victors don't come out of the arena like Finnick Odair, Mari. Most tributes don't come out of the arena at all," I try to reason with her. "What if you…?" No, I can't finish that sentence. I won't. The memory of Mari almost getting reaped surfaces in my head, but I push it away.

Mari places her hand on mine. "I _won't_," she insists. "I'm going to win. I'm going to win and help my grandparents." She pauses and squeezes my hand like how I squeezed hers during that reaping so very long ago. "And… I won't end up like _her_, okay? I'll never end up like _her_. I promise, Annie."

I toss another rock into the water. _Don't make promises you can't keep_, I think. But I don't say this out loud.

I wake up before dawn and decide to take a morning swim before Uncle Luke and Little Todd wake up. No one typically swims or goes fishing this early in the morning, especially on the day of the reaping, so the ocean is entirely mine. I dive into the water and submerge myself into it. The water is cool and refreshing against my skin and I almost feel purified by its touch. It makes me almost forget about Mari's decision and today's reaping and my mother and everything. Almost. Once the sun begins to rise, I dry myself off and head back home. I shower, sleep for a while, and later eat breakfast with Uncle Luke and Little Todd, who excitedly talks about how Uncle Luke will take him to the beach later today to play with his friends. I smile and nod and act encouraging. I'm glad Little Todd hasn't mentioned the reaping. He doesn't quite understand it or the Games just yet. He won't be in primary school for another year or so, so he hasn't been taught or trained for the Hunger Games, which he thinks are as much of a game as building sandcastles or playing hide-and-seek. He's watched it on television before, but the Games are more like a movie to him and he falls asleep a quarter ways into it.

I look up from my meal and find Uncle Luke meeting my gaze. He gives me a small nod and smile, and my heart pangs a little with pain. I know Uncle Luke worries about me every time the reaping draws near. Of course, he would never say it, but I know. And I know it's more than that and it's more than me. It must hurt him more than I will ever know to see me standing there at the reaping every year since I was twelve and seeing a younger version of my mother, Molly, instead. His sister. Still innocent from the horrors of the arena. Untainted and pure. The way he will always remember her. I'm certain that my mother's reaping is my uncle's single regret. If the rules were different, he would have probably volunteered in her place or followed after her and protected her as the male tribute. But he was already nineteen by then and the Hunger Games could no longer claim him. My mother was an entirely different story.

When my mother was pregnant with me, no one knew except Uncle Luke and his wife Priscilla. Because I was an infant when Uncle Luke and Aunt Priscilla took me in, scarcely anyone knows that I'm my mother's child, a child of a previous victor. To everyone else, I am Molly Cresta's niece, Luke and Priscilla Cresta's daughter, Little Todd's older sister. In public, I play along with it because the truth is more complicated.

After breakfast, I take Little Todd out grocery shopping with me. When we're finished, I take Little Todd to the playground. I sit on a bench and watch as he plays with the other children. He's grinning and laughing, and I wonder if this will the last time I'll see Little Todd's smiling face. If it is, it would be a good memory to take with me. It is about noon when we return home and Uncle Luke urges us to get ready for the reaping. I let Little Todd take the first shower while I put away the groceries. When he's done, I take the next shower and figure out what clothes to wear. I ultimately decide to wear a green sundress that Uncle Luke bought for my birthday last year, grey stockings, and black flats. I brush my long, dark hair neatly before clipping the top half of my hair, letting the bottom half fall on my back, and fix my bangs a little, which is straight and covers my eyebrows. I apply light make-up before checking up on Little Todd, who's wearing a white, buttoned shirt, black pants, and matching black shoes. Seeing myself in the hallway mirror again, this time I am certain that the person I see is me, not a ghost and not my mother. I turn to see Uncle Luke staring at me with the same bittersweet expression while we were eating breakfast. I am certain that the person he sees is not me or a ghost.

The district square in front of the Justice Building is crowded when we arrive there. Boys and girls ages twelve through eighteen sign in and begin taking their places. I kneel down and hug Little Todd, cherishing his innocence and his smiles, and then I stand up and hug Uncle Luke, who was like a father to me and was more of parent to me than my own mother. For Little Todd, this is just another game. I'll enter the reaping and I'll return safe and sound. For Uncle Luke, this is the memory of his sister being reaped. His single regret haunting him for the rest of his life. For me, it's life or death.

I sign myself in and wander through the crowd. I file in line and find myself next to Mari again. She takes my hand and it's like we're twelve-year-olds again. It dawns on me that Mari will volunteer today, regardless of whether she is reaped or not. Perhaps it won't be me on that stage today. But that doesn't make me feel any better. This is _Mari_. Maria Mayflower. My best friend. My childhood friend. My oldest and dearest friend. I don't want to relive our first reaping.

As soon as all of the boys and girls have been checked in, the reaping begins. Our mayor, Phillip Stone, starts the ceremony by reciting Panem's history and then the names of District 4's previous victors. Among these names is my mother's name. Among these names are Mags and Finnick Odair. At the sound of her name, Mags merely nods and babbles something inaudible. I feel bad that they force her to come to reaping and mentor tributes every year at her aged state. She doesn't stand up as the audience claps for her. She's probably too frail to do so. At the sound of his name, Finnick Odair rises from his seat, smiling as the crowds clap and cheer and scream for him. The fellow girls in my age group, including Mari, seem more distracted by the sight, and the possible mentoring, of Finnick Odair than the thought of their own demise. I stare skeptically at our worshipped victor. To be fair, I _can_ see why everyone fawns over him. It just bothers me that everyone's obsessed with someone who they don't even know, someone whose greatest accomplishment is the slaughter of twenty-three people. But I have to admit that much like the year he was reaped, Finnick Odair surprises me. Like what Mari said, he looks fine. In spite of her withering state, Mags does too. They're both nothing like my mother at all. As I think this, I find Finnick Odair looking straight at me, his sea green eyes meeting mine. The moment is brief and before I can blink he turns, and I am left to wonder whether I was seeing things or not. No, he wasn't looking at me, I decide.

Our district escort, Lydia Ambergale, will now draw the names of our district tributes. First, the girls. Then, the boys. Lydia Ambergale seems to be somewhere in her mid twenties. She wears an orange, ruffled dress and matching orange shoes that make her a few inches taller than she really is. She has short, blue pixie cut hair and matching blue polka dot stockings and jewelry. She has amber-colored eyes that compliment her name. Her skin is light and there are small orange dots that go vertically down her cheeks. She smiles at us as her fingers search daintily through the glass bowl of girl names.

I feel Mari's hand squeezing mine. That's right. Mari wants to volunteer. Mari is going to volunteer. She will volunteer today. I know this, and yet I still cannot find it in me to process it. The idea of it all scares me. I will have to watch Mari on the television screen as she is beautified, interviewed, and eventually put into the Games. I will see her fight, I will see her kill, and I might see her get killed. For that single moment I thought of no one but her, and I find myself wishing for the one thing I'd been running from ever since I turned twelve-years-old. I wish that it wasn't her in the Games. I wish it was me.

Lydia Ambergale finally lifts a folded paper from the glass bowl, unfolds it, and reads a name aloud.

My wish is granted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Uncharted Waters**

_**The Hunger Games**_ **© Suzanne Collins**

* * *

><p><strong><em>(2)<em>**

* * *

><p>My name rings throughout the entire square so clearly that it cannot be denied that I had been reaped, and soon everyone's eyes are on me, watching, waiting. It's like the reaping when I was twelve-years-old, only the complete opposite. I was chosen instead of Mari. From the corner of my eye, I see her pale with shock, her eyes widening, her fingers trembling in my hand. I decide to take advantage of Mari's devastated state and wrench my hand from hers and turn for the stage. This is my chance. I can't let her volunteer. I won't. I'm afraid, I admit it. I'm afraid. My mother walked these same steps. She was on this stage. Before the Games. Before they changed her forever. But I brush those thoughts aside. Thinking about Mother won't help at all. Thinking about her will make things worse. I can feel my eyes growing watery, but I blink the tears away. I'm being recorded as we speak for all of Panem to see. I won't let the other tributes have the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I arrive on stage, where the tribute is typically greeted with a kind nod from Mags, a handshake (for the boys) or a kiss on the hand (for the girls) from Finnick Odair, and a hug from our escort. Mags nods like I expect her to, but her eyes look just as sad as when Finnick Odair volunteered himself at his reaping. From the way I hurried towards the stage, she must think I'm ecstatic to be District 4's female tribute, though I'm sure that my frozen expression speaks otherwise.<p>

When I turn to Finnick Odair, he looks almost as pale as Mari did, almost as pale as I was when I thought I saw my mother in the hallway mirror last night. I don't see why. We're not friends, we don't know each other, and we've certainly never exchanged words. I stare at him, perplexed, and assume that he won't be kissing my hand anytime soon. So, I give him a nod and decide to skip him and go to Lydia Ambergale. But as I extend my hand out to hug her, I find it being delicately taken by both of Finnick Odair's hands. He's smiling again and I feel delusional for thinking for a second that he was actually worried about me. Finnick Odair's lips graze my skin lightly. He looks at me and tilts his head.

"For good luck," he says.

My heart flutters slightly. I'm not sure how to respond to that, so I just nod again.

I give Lydia Ambergale a hug, and she faces the crowd and says, "My, my! The niece of one of District Four's former victors! What are the odds?" The odds aren't as uncommon as Lydia Ambergale would like to think. Every now and then, a child of a former victor is sometimes reaped. It brings drama and suspense for the tribute to be mentored by his or her parent or to live up to their success. Thankfully, I won't have to deal with something like that. Lydia Ambergale asks if anyone would like to volunteer in my place, and jealous girls in my age group stab me with death glares—probably thanks to Finnick Odair—and many readily shout to replace me in heartbeat. My eyes quickly find Mari, and it seems her shock is starting to recede because her eyes meet mine and I can already see the words beginning on form on her mouth.

I quickly grab onto the podium and scream out into the microphone, "NO VOLUNTEERS!"

That silences the entire audience. I'm usually quiet and soft-spoken, but it probably jolted everyone that I screamed at all. Lydia Ambergale exchanges glances with me. I gulp, wondering if I was allowed to refuse volunteers in the first place.

"Please, what I mean to say is… I don't want anyone to volunteer for me," I say with an unsteady voice. "I was reaped… so I'll be your tribute." It was as simple as that.

Lydia Ambergale laughs in an attempt to ease the tense atmosphere and motions me to take a step back as she resumes her place at the podium. "Annie Cresta, aren't you a gem? You're certainly eager to make your district proud! A model example of how a tribute should be! I think Annie deserves a round of applause!" Lydia Ambergale manages to turn my desperate plea into desperate patriotism. It works and the crowd claps.

I avoid looking at the scowling faces of my female peers—and I _definitely_ avoid looking at Mari—so I look beyond them instead to the audience of townspeople and families, where I finally see the faces of Uncle Luke and Little Todd. My heart sinks instantaneously. What have I done? I was so consumed by the idea of protecting Mari that I totally forgot about what this means for my family. Of course, Little Todd is just as innocent and oblivious as before. That isn't what hurts me. What hurts me is the sight of tears streaming down Uncle Luke's face. My Uncle Luke, who refused to share a shred of weakness in an effort to stay strong for everyone else, is crying for all District 4 and Panem to see. He is crying because he sees my mother heading straight for the Games that destroyed her. He's reliving the day of my mother's reaping all over again and I did nothing to stop mine; I outright encouraged it. I can feel myself choking, my eyes burning. Somehow, I've betrayed him and that stabs me so much more than any death glare possibly could. I don't deserve a round of applause for hurting the closest thing I have to a parent, a father no less. I deserve to be in a pool of my own blood.

But I don't cry. I won't let my tears fall. Uncle Luke has cried so much for me already. I swallow my pain and sadness. I harden my resolve. I need to stay alive in the Games and win for Mari, who I will give my reward money. I'd give her the Victor's Village house too, but I'm not sure if I'm allowed to do that. I'll win for Uncle Luke too, who I will never stop apologizing to and live with Little Todd and him till the end of my days. Dying won't help any of them. Winning will.

Lydia Ambergale moves on to the selection of male tributes, and I hope that it won't be someone I know. For a few seconds, my thoughts are on my neighbor and my closest friend next to Mari, Walter Averell. I shudder at the thought of having to kill him or him having to kill me. Lydia Ambergale unfolds the slip of paper and I brace myself as she announces the name of the male tribute.

"Reid Fischer!"

My heart relaxes. _I do not know him_.

Reid Fischer is surprised when his name gets called out, but he accepts being tribute with no volunteers as well. The crowd claps for him, and I shake hands with Reid Fischer and examine him. All I truly know about Reid Fischer is from his name. He is the only son of the Fischer family, one of the wealthiest families in District 4. I think he might be a year younger than me too, but beyond this I know nothing else. We've never met or exchanged words. I'm pretty sure he doesn't attend the academy; he probably has private tutors instead. I search his face—his unruly, dirty blond hair, his uncommon hazel eyes, and fair skin—and I ultimately find nothing of familiarity. Reid Fischer is as much of a stranger to me as any of the other tributes are. He'll be easier to kill. A chill runs down my spine. It frightens me that the idea of killing someone becomes so agreeable all of a sudden. But we were trained for this. We were all trained for this.

When the ceremony ends, Reid Fischer and I are ushered into the Justice Building by several Peacekeepers. We are kept in separate rooms where we will have an hour to exchange farewells with friends, family, and loved ones. But I'm afraid I don't have too many of those. The only people I consider close to me are Uncle Luke, Little Todd, Mari, Walter, and a couple of other friends from the academy. Aunt Priscilla is gone, and Mother and I never quite had a functional relationship to begin with. The door opens, and my heart skips a beat, wondering who will the first person I must say goodbye to. It is Mari. _Of course, it is Mari_, I think. The Peacekeepers shut the door, and I am left alone with my oldest and dearest friend who probably hates me right now. Not only did I take her chance at volunteering and making a better life for her grandparents and her, but I'm abandoning her too. And I took away her chance at meeting Finnick Odair too, though I think that'll be the least of her worries. She will be forced to watch me in Games. She will see me fight, she will see me kill, and she might see me get killed. I'm ready for Mari to scream at me and slap me when she wraps her arms around me instead and begins sobbing.

No cameras. No one's watching me. No one but Mari. So, I decide to remove my mask and finally cry. If I cry my heart out now, then I'll be able to stay strong when Uncle Luke and Little Todd see me. I tell Mari I'm sorry. I tell her that I wanted to protect her. I tell her how I'll win for her. I tell her how I'll give my reward money to her grandparents and her when I do. I tell Mari I won't die. I tell her I promise.

Mari stares at me and her eyes tell me, "Don't make promises you can't keep." But she doesn't say this out loud.

My next visitors are my friends from the academy. Violet Stone, the daughter of Mayor Stone. We are classmates, members of the academy's swimming team, and have known each other since primary school. Violet tries to cheer me up, but I can detect doubt and sadness in her voice. I try not to take it so personally. Her brother was killed in the Games a few years ago, and she must fear that I will suffer the fate. My next visitor is Cecilia Haven, another classmate and a member of the student council. We've been friends since secondary school, and Mari and I eat lunch with her. Cecilia cries a lot, but she tries to be reassuring and says I won't die because Finnick Odair will be mentoring me. I contemplate reminding her about Finnick Odair's track record—or reevaluating our friendship because of her mere mention of Finnick Odair—but I know that Cecilia ultimately means well.

Several other classmates visit me to either give their sympathies or their encouragement, and I think one of them is about to confess to me when the Peacekeepers timely remove him. I feel bad, but I'm a little relieved. I don't think I could have handled something like that right now, and I try to avoid being asked out if I could to help it. It's just too much to think about. The boy is replaced with my neighbor and close friend, Walter Averell. I briefly remember fearing that he would be the male tribute. I'm glad that he's not because I don't think I could kill someone I care about. We grew up together, and he's as much of family to me as Mari is. Walter reminds me about a few things that I should remember when I'm at the arena, like what weapons will be more useful or which plants are edible, and I take mental note of his advice.

Then Walter gives me a hug. It feels strange because this is the first time we've ever really been physically close, but I don't mind. "I think my time's up," he says. I nod. "You'll be fine, you know. And hey, if you end up in a place with a lot of water, you'll be sure to win."

"I haven't always been the best swimmer," I remind him. When District 4 had a flood a few years ago, I almost drowned.

Walter smiles. "You're the best swimmer to me." A pause. "Look, I…" There's another pause, and I think he's going to confess like the boy who tried to before, and I realize that I wouldn't mind that either. But instead he says, "Take care, Annie." Walter leaves and I am disappointed. I don't love Walter, I don't even think I like him in a romantic sense. But I always had this thought in the back of my head that if I ended up with someone, it would probably have been him.

Disappointment turns to dread the moment Uncle Luke and Little Todd finally enter the room. My heart hurts. Everything hurts. Little Todd runs up to me, and my hand ruffles through his hair. It's dark like Uncle Luke's. Like mine too, which is why everyone thinks we're siblings. Even though we're cousins, in my head he'll always be my little brother. "You won, you won!" Little Todd exclaims. That's right. He thinks this is another game. He thinks it's over now. But it's not and he might finally understand the Games once he realizes I won't going home with Uncle Luke and him, when he sees me on the television, when he sees me kill. I wish Little Todd could always stay as innocent as he is right now, but I know my wish won't be granted this time. I kneel down like I did before the reaping and hug him. I hug Little Todd because I'll miss him. I hug him in hopes of taking his little warmth with me. I hug him because I'm afraid to face Uncle Luke.

"Yes, Todd. I won," I lie. "I won, so I'll be going away for a little while. But you'll be able to see my on television. I'll be wearing pretty dresses and there will be people cheering for me." I try to avoid talking about the Games in hopes that once they actually start, Little Todd will fall asleep like he usually does. "You be good, okay? Promise me." Little Todd nods and I know that this is a promise he can keep.

When I can't ignore Uncle Luke any longer, I release Little Todd, stand up, and finally look him in the eyes. His tears are gone. He's wiped them already, but his eyes are still watery. I still feel guilt-ridden for my betrayal, but there's no turning back now. "I did it for Mari," I say. "She was going to volunteer and I couldn't stand to see her get killed." My uncle says nothing and listens. He is patient with me, even though I don't deserve it. "I said I'd give her the money if I won. For her and her grandparents." I pause. "And I won't say I'm sorry. Not yet. I want to tell you that I'm sorry after I win, and I'll keep telling you that I'm sorry for as long as I live."

Uncle Luke hugs me and we say nothing for a long time. Finally, he says, "Then you better stay alive."

"I will." I bury my head in his clothes so he won't see me cry and I won't him cry.

Before I know it, the Peacekeepers take Uncle Luke and Little Todd, and I am left alone. I try to remember everyone's faces, engrave them all in my head and my heart, but all I get is more tears. I'm furious with myself. I can't bear to look like this when I am taken to the train station, so I allow myself a few seconds to grieve before I take in a breath, wipe away my tears, and seal away my heart.

Just when I think the visiting hour is over, I have two guests that I didn't expect to have: Mags and Finnick Odair. Their presence startles me. Why are they here? They're my mentors, so they can talk to me whenever they want before the Games. So, why now? I didn't know mentors counted as friends, family, and loved ones, but these are the people who are going to try and keep me alive. So, I guess that makes us family.

"Hello," I greet them awkwardly.

Mags approaches me and begins saying things that I can't quite comprehend. But from the look on her face, I can tell she's sincere and I try to listen and make out what she's saying anyway, and I smile and hug her all the same. Then I turn to Finnick Odair. Now that he's away from the public eyes of District 4, he seems anything but amiable. His face is unreadable and his sea green eyes scan me carefully. "Annie Cresta. The niece of former victor, Molly Cresta." It's not a question. He's stating facts, so I nod. "Is she why you volunteered?" he asks.

"No. And I didn't volunteer," I correct him quietly. "I was reaped."

"But you wouldn't let anyone take your place," he says.

_Just like Reid Fischer_, I think. I wonder if Mags and Finnick Odair have already visited him, if Finnick Odair questioned Reid Fischer in the same fashion. "Because I was the one who was reaped," I tell him, even though I don't have to. I explained this earlier in front of everything. I don't see why my reasons need to be questioned. But Finnick Odair appears unconvinced and to be fair I'm not telling the whole truth, so I say, "Because my friend was going to volunteer herself today and I didn't want to see her get killed."

"So, you doubt she would win?"

"No, I…" Why was he twisting my words? I wasn't that I doubted Mari. No, I'm sure Mari could have handled herself well. Maybe I should have let her volunteer. But the idea of my sweet childhood friend—who doesn't seem capable of swatting a fly—killing another person makes me feel uneasy. The idea of her in a pool of her own blood makes me feel worse. No, I don't doubt that Mari would win. I just… I only… "I don't want to see the people I care about die," I say.

Finnick Odair walks over to me and squeezes my shoulder. "Lydia was right. You're a model of how a tribute should be."

I stare at him, unable to tell if he's speaking truthfully or mockingly. Maybe it is both. But there is something in Finnick Odair's eyes that tell me his words mean something else entirely. I frown. "Did you visit me just to ask about that?" I ask.

Finnick Odair takes a step back. "I didn't want to visit you," he says and gestures to his co-mentor. "_Mags_ did."

I feel appalled. "Then why did you ask me all those questions?"

"Because I'm trying to figure you out," Finnick Odair smirks sweetly.

He's trying to figure me out? What does that have to with the Games? What does that have to do with anything? But it's probably not in my best interest to question someone who can help me survive in the Games. So, I put aside my current semi-dislike for Finnick Odair and have an open mind. "Well, figure me out all you like, Finnick Odair," I decide, smiling. "But you won't uncover my secrets."

Finnick Odair stares at me for a moment before he places one hand on his hip and chuckles. "Secrets just so happen to be my specialty."


	3. Chapter 3

**Uncharted Waters**

_**The Hunger Games**_ **© Suzanne Collins**

* * *

><p><strong><em>(3)<em>**

* * *

><p>The Peacekeepers announce that the visiting period is over. Mags and Finnick Odair leave, and I am then taken to the train station with Reid Fischer, who I try to detach myself from as much as possible. After all, it wouldn't do me any good getting attached to someone who I might have to kill. But Reid Fischer is making this difficult by being anything but unfriendly. He's all smiles and he's very polite. He's not like most male District 4 tributes, who seem either arrogant, cocky, or thirsting for blood. From the look on his face, I don't think Reid Fischer has cried either, but there seems to be a distinct mark along his cheekbone that I don't remember seeing at the reaping. I've probably stared at him for too long because Reid Fischer faces me and touches the mark lightly.<p>

"Can you see it? I was hoping it wasn't that noticeable…," he mutters.

"It's not. Sorry, I didn't mean to stare," I say.

"It was my mom. She wasn't too happy that I volunteered."

Quite the understatement there. It is hard to believe because any parent or relative would be eager to have a tribute in their family in District 4. But to be hit, of all things… I frown and turn away, reminding myself that I shouldn't be sympathizing with Reid Fischer. I won't let some sob story get to me. Besides, Reid Fischer doesn't seem to mind the incident with his mother too much and shrugs it off with stride, so there's no reason for me to feel the slightest bit of concern. That's when I realize he's content. He's content with being reaped and he's content with getting hit by his mother. I've never seen someone so calm, especially when he might be facing his possible death. I wonder if this is Reid's Fischer strategy for the Games. To pretend to be calm and collected before he stabs people in the heart. I want to believe that so killing Reid Fischer will be easier, but he's just so… so _nice_.

I try to distract myself by looking out the car window, but looking at home hurts too much. I see the street that Mari, Walter, and I would use as a shortcut to the academy. I see the marketplace where I had just gone grocery shopping only earlier today. I see the academy, where I attended classes with Violet and Cecilia yesterday. I have a glimpse of the wealthier houses in District 4, with their water canals, gondolas, and expensive boats. In the corner of my eye, I can see the beach and everything hurts so much that I forced to look away.

We arrive at the train station, and Reid Fischer and I are flooded with cameras monitoring our slightest of movements. I feel as suffocated as I felt during my first reaping, but I try to stay calm because I'm sure that vomiting will get me no sponsors. I give a small smile to some of the cameras, and the cameramen seem to take my silence for shyness. I glance at Reid Fischer, who is soaking up the limelight. Maybe his optimistic attitude will overshadow the mark on his face. Reid Fischer takes my hand and helps me into the train like a gentleman, and I can't help but feel appreciative.

I look around with wide eyes. I've never been in a train before. It's not as narrow as I imagined it to be, and everything is so rich and all the rooms have fine furniture and are decorated splendidly. And here I thought the wealthier houses in District 4 looked pretty. Trains are certainly something else. Lydia Ambergale appears to take me to my room, which has a queen-sized bed with multiple throw pillows, a dresser and wardrobe with an assortment of new clothing, and a bathroom. She says we'll arrive in the Capitol in a few hours and that she'll call on me later for supper before leaving. I sit on my bed and think. I can't believe that so much has happened in such a short amount of time. To think that earlier, I was just swimming and eating breakfast with Uncle Luke and Little Todd. They're all gone now. Mari too.

I search my pockets to find nothing of value except for a small piece of rope. I pause as my fingers brush against it. I rarely wear this green dress. It wasn't that I didn't like it; I just couldn't find an occasion to wear it. I must have been knotting or teaching Little Todd how to knot while I was wearing it, and I must have left the rope without realizing. It's nothing special. It's a simple rope. You could find it anywhere. But this is from District 4. This is from home. So, I cherish it and begin knotting until Lydia Ambergale knocks on my door for supper.

She is surprised to see that I haven't showered or changed into any of my new clothes. I reassure her I'll do it after supper. I decide that Lydia Ambergale doesn't seem too bad. Her choice of hair color, clothing, and make-up are a little startling to look at it, but Lydia seems to want to make sure that I feel at home, and her kindness is the closest thing that I've felt to motherly affection next to Aunt Priscilla. Besides, I won't have worry about her trying to kill me, so I suppose that's a plus in my book.

Reid Fischer, Mags, and Finnick Odair are already in the dining cart. Reid Fischer hasn't changed clothes either, but Mags and Finnick Odair have. Instead of the white dress and sweater she wore earlier, Mags now wears a blue, long-sleeved dress and pearls. Finnick Odair now wears a blue collared dress shirt, black pants, and matching black shoes. He smiles at me when I approach the dining table with Lydia, but I still haven't quite forgiven Finnick Odair for making me feel foolish at the Justice Building. My rejection backfires because it only seems to amuse him more. Mags must have noticed Reid Fischer's mark because she is now applying some sort of pale green medicine on it. When she's finished, Reid Fischer thanks her and she returns to her seat, mumbling what I take to be, "You're welcome."

But I am soon engulfed by the rich aroma of our supper. The dining table is filled with all sorts of delicacies, and I notice that most of the dishes are seafood. Muscles and oysters, shrimp soup with spinach and bamboo shoots, buttered lobster, and noodles with seaweed. There is also rice and fruits and bread. I sit down between Reid Fischer and Lydia and across from Finnick Odair. I really don't want to sit in front of Finnick Odair—I'm not embarrassed, I just don't want Finnick Odair "figuring me out" while I eat—but it's better than sitting next to him. Enthusiastic as always, Reid Fischer tries every dish. Lydia has the buttered lobster and some fruits. Mags has the shrimp soup, and Finnick Odair has some oysters, the noodles, and bread.

I've never eaten with so many people before except during lunch hour at the academy, but the company feels warm and nice. There is some laughter and casual conversations. It is then that I realize that if I wasn't reaped, I would have been eating supper with Uncle Luke and Little Todd right now. I swallow dryly and lose my appetite. But I don't want to look ungrateful, especially after the cooks went through all this trouble to make food from home, so I force myself to eat some of the lobster and the fruits and the bread. When I get to the bread, I notice that it's District 4 bread. The fish shape and seaweed color is unmistakable. I smile a little, take a bite, and it is the only part of the meal that I savor.

After supper, we all go into another room and watch the replay of today's reaping. I'm too distracted to pay attention to the first three districts because I dread seeing myself on screen. I must have looked too desperate, too nerve-wrecked. But it's not as bad as I imagined. I see Lydia calling my name out, myself walking to the stage, and Finnick Odair kissing my hand. Even when I screamed for no volunteers, it wasn't so much of a scream, like I thought it was, but rather a plea. The commentators say how innocent I appear, as though I'm sparing everyone else from getting themselves killed when in reality I'm only sparing the life of my childhood friend. They turn my selfishness into selflessness. Lydia compliments my District 4 pride and the crowd claps for me. Reid Fischer is called and brought to the stage. We shake hands. The commentators comment that both of our decisions to have no volunteers is a little unorthodox, but they find our determination to be tributes admirable. Then it skips on to District 5. I sigh in relief and try to pay more attention now that our reaping is over.

Most of the other tributes seem to be between the ages of fourteen through seventeen, with only a scattered few being twelve or thirteen. I always feel bad for the little ones because they rarely end up being victors and are usually the first to be killed. After our reaping, no one volunteers in the rest of the districts, but that's to be expected. Some districts see the Games as a death sentence rather than a chance for honor and glory. I can see this through the children's scared eyes, their parents' devastated crying and protest, and the inability for any of this to be stopped. No one volunteers for the twelve-year-old from District 9 that has to be dragged by Peacekeepers to the stage.

The train will arrive in the Capitol soon, so Reid Fischer and I get ready and change into our new clothes. Our stylists will likely undress and fix us later, but this is just for the cameras at the station. I put on a white blouse and a flower-printed skirt. I keep on the same stockings and flats, and I put the small piece of rope in my skirt pocket. Reid Fischer and I then meet with Mags and Finnick Odair, who begins to explain the procedures to us. When we're at the Capitol, we will be taken by our stylists and prep teams, who will prepare us for the opening ceremonies. This is where the tributes will dress in a way that represents our district function. District 4 is fishing, so it will obviously be something fishing or sea-related. After that, we will spend the next few days at the Training Center where we will hone our skills and try to impress the Gamemakers, then to the interviews with Caesar Flickerman, and finally to the Games. I must look nervous because Mags puts her hand on mine comfortingly. She reminds me of Mari's grandmother, and I appreciate her kindness. We are passing through a tunnel when Mags and Finnick Odair decide to take their leave.

At the doorway, Finnick Odair says, "Play nice, you two. We'll be arriving at the Capitol shortly. And remember to smile for the cameras."

As the door shuts behind them, I am left alone with Reid Fischer. He looks at me. "You think we'll be dressed up as fishes?"

I imagine being in a fish suit and make a face. "I hope not."

Reid Fischer laughs, and I realize that I really don't like him. I don't like how content and calm he is. It's unnerving. I really don't like how he's trying to be friends with me because we're going to end up trying to kill each other. It's just too sad. I don't see why he agreed to be a tribute in the first place. His family is already rich. And I really don't like how unreadable he is. Just like Finnick Odair, I don't know how to take his comments. I wish he looked scared or nervous or angry, but he's just so happy and calm. It bothers me. Is Reid Fischer truly content with dying? Or is he just so sure that he'll win?

"You don't really like Finnick, do you?" Reid Fischer's question yanks me from the thoughts.

"What?" How did our conversation turn from fishes to Finnick Odair? Somehow, I feel like I'm at the academy again during lunch, where Cecilia Haven could always turn any topic into one about our heartthrob victor. Not that Mari would mind, and not that anyone seemed to care that I did. I purse my lips. "What makes you say that?"

"You totally blew him off over supper. He smiles at you; you give him the cold shoulder. He asks you questions, and you brush him off with one to three-word answers."

Reid Fischer's perception is uncanny. "It's… not that I _don't_ like him. I just don't see why everyone else _does_," I say, sighing. "He's our victor, but no one knows anything about him, and all the girls gush over him like they do. I think you should get to know the person you like, or the only thing you end of liking about them is what you see. Appearances. It's just shallow."

"It's impressive how much thought you put into it," Reid Fischer comments.

I repress a laugh when I realize Reid Fischer is doing it again. Being nice and pleasant and complaisant. I really don't get him at all. "Why are you like that?" I decide now's the best time to ask than never.

He blinks, confused. "Why am I like what?"

"Why are you so nice? We're not friends."

Reid Fischer chuckles. "We could be friends," he says.

His blunt answer surprises me. "Why would you want to be friends with me?" I ask.

Reid Fischer meets my gaze and gives a small smile. "Because I'd rather be your friend than your enemy."


	4. Chapter 4

**Uncharted Waters**

_**The Hunger Games**_ **© Suzanne Collins**

* * *

><p><strong><em>(4)<em>**

* * *

><p>Is Reid Fischer trying to make a sick joke? <em>Of course<em>, we're going to be enemies. There's no getting around that. In the Hunger Games, there is only one victor and twenty-three sacrificial lambs to the slaughter. There's no point in making friends in a game like this. Allies are one thing, but allies are temporary. Friends are something else entirely. Friendship implies kinship, intimacy, and caring. And I don't want to care about Reid Fischer. I don't think I could bear caring about someone who I might be forced to kill.

So, I block Reid Fischer out from my mind. Simple enough. I make myself not care.

When our train arrives at the Capitol and we're sent to our stylists and prep teams at the Remake Center, I'm not entirely sure what to expect. The Capitol never shows what happens inside the Remake Center to the viewers. The tributes go in plain and unassuming, and they come out and into the opening ceremonies with their costumes and their make-up and hair done. But soon enough, I get my answer and I don't like it at all. I don't think I've ever felt so exposed before in my life. My prep team strips me bare of any undesirable hair as well as my clothing and the robe that they briefly let me wear. My cheeks flush with embarrassment, but my prep team doesn't seem to mind my nakedness. They're probably used to this already, and I'm grateful for their professionalism. They cleanse my skin and examine my body, and when my prep team feels that I am fit enough to be seen, my stylist Julius Crown visits me and sets me up for what I'll be wearing for the opening ceremonies.

My jaw drops a little. The costume is so detailed, so rich. It is a two-piece costume. The first part is what appears to be a white, bedazzled shell-shaped bra that's tight and sturdy at the front and the laces are slink against my back. My midriff and almost my entire back is exposed. The bottom part of the costume is a long, sea green skirt that is fitting at the hips and flows down to my legs like ocean water. It's partly open to expose my left leg, which has two, golden ankle bracelets. My wrists have matching bracelets too, and long strips of seaweed is wrapped around my upper arms. My sandals are scaly and match the color of my skirt. My stylist lets my hair down and only slightly wets it here and there so some of my hair curls and clings to my face like I've just finished swimming. He applies little make-up, a little glittery blush at my cheeks, scales painted along my cheekbones, and rosy pink lipstick. He drips the tiniest bits of sea salt water against my skin. Seaweed with a tiny starfish wraps around a lock of my hair.

By the time he allows me to look at myself in the mirror, I don't see myself. I see a stranger. I see something unearthly and beautiful and not me at all.

I turn to Julius Crown wordlessly. I'm not sure what to say. I feel like a "thank you" isn't good enough. It certainly couldn't compare in the world to the effort and work that he—as well as his prep team—has molded me into. I'm grateful when Julius Crown takes my awestruck silence as a compliment and tilts his head, as if he were to bow.

The rest of the tributes are beginning to get on their horse-drawn chariots when I arrive at the lower area of the Remake Center. I can feel some of their eyes staring at me and my very exposed skin, but I try to not be intimidated by their watchful eyes and the other extravagant costumes or nauseous by the crowded atmosphere. I shouldn't feel embarrassed. That would be an insult to Julius Crown and his prep team's wonderful job. Besides, I'm used to ignoring unwanted stares at the academy, and if I can't handle a few gazes here, how will I possibly be able to handle the entire Capitol population watching me? I decide to busy myself with petting one of the horses from our chariot.

Reid Fischer soon joins me, and for once I actually feel relieved by his company rather than puzzled or annoyed. His costume is much more exposing than mine. The top half of his body is completely bare aside from a net trailing from his right shoulder down to his left side of his hip and then tied at the back. He wears sea green shorts and leather sandals that lace around his feet. Sea salt water drops make his skin glisten like mine and in his right hand is a carved and detailed spear. For the first time, I notice how thin Reid Fischer is. For someone who's been training for the Games since he was a child, he's surprisingly lanky and doesn't seem to have much muscle in his arms. This will probably be a disadvantage for him in the Games.

Reid Fischer doesn't seem concerned with that because his attention is on me. "You're beautiful, Annie," he confesses shyly.

I choke on my next word. "What?" I think I even see him blush, and that only makes _me_ feel embarrassed. "Don't say that," I insist, avoiding his gaze.

He laughs. "Do you want me to lie?"

_Yes. Please lie_, I think. Instead I change the subject and say, "I wonder what we're supposed to be."

Reid Fischer ponders this. "I think you're supposed to be a mermaid and I'm just a guy trying to catch you," he suggests.

"Or _kill_ me," I interject, staring at his sharp spear which could pierce my heart if he tried. I don't think mermaids have anything to do with fishing, but it is sea-related. "I'm probably just a pretty fish."

Reid Fischer helps me onto our chariot. "Probably," he says agreeably. "But would you rather be a fish or a mermaid?"

I am reminded of my last conversation with Reid Fischer and grimace at the thought of being in a fish suit. "Okay. Mermaid. I'm a mermaid."

The opening ceremonies begins. The music roars throughout the Capitol as the chariots begin to move, and I am blinded by the lights of the cameras and photographers and deafened by the cheers and screams of our audience. I glance at Reid Fischer. He enjoys the spotlight for all that it is worth, and I can't help but feel envious about how nothing ever seems to faze him. He gets reaped? He's perfectly fine with that. His mother smacks on the face? Perfectly fine with that too.

I'm a little nervous of all the attention and the staring eyes, but I try my best to stay strong and smile like Finnick Odair told us to do in the train. These people could be potential sponsors, after all. I wonder what Finnick Odair thinks of our stylists' choice of costumes and our performance. Are Mags and he watching the opening ceremonies from these crowds or on a television in the comfort of their own rooms? Probably the latter. I doubt Mags could take being in such a massive crowd, and if Finnick Odair was among our audience, I'm certain that everyone would be staring at him instead of us. I find myself searching the crowd for him anyway, but all the faces are unfamiliar and blur and mesh in my head.

Reid Fischer puts his arm around me and I look at him, startled by his impulsive and intimate gesture. After all, no tributes really touch, if ever, at the opening ceremonies. They're usually standing on their own, as if they were only person in the world. "What are you doing?" I hiss at him.

He leans into me and whispers back, "You're a mermaid, right? I have to look like I caught you." I am tempted to roll my eyes, but I decide to go along with it. I'm a mermaid and Reid Fischer is my lovesick captor. How romantic. But as Reid Fischer turns away, I can feel his fingers shaking ever so slightly and wonder if there are things that scare even him.

The chariots move from the Remake Center to the City Circle, in front of President Coriolanus Snow's mansion. He welcomes us tributes and proceeds with his annual speech. On television, President Snow looks so much bigger and imposing. Here, it's different but nevertheless intimidating. But I've never seen him in person before… except once. It was shortly after my mother's death. I was ten-years-old, and Aunt Priscilla was still alive and pregnant with Little Todd. President Snow had visited Uncle Luke to give his condolences about my mother, and I had eavesdropped on their conversation from a cracked door in the hallway. I didn't mean to; I had smelled a different scent in the air from my room and wondered where it was coming from. I couldn't really hear them very well either aside from a few words here and there, but I knew Uncle Luke was angry. He was repressing it, but I could detect it from the cutting edge of his voice. At the time, I didn't understand, but now I do. This was the man who imposed the Hunger Games on the districts every year and forced my mother into the Games that eventually destroyed every fiber of who she used to be.

I watched them until Aunt Priscilla caught me. "Annie, there you are!" she said. "You know it's not nice to eavesdrop, young lady."

I turned and tugged on her apron. "Who is Father talking to?" I asked. By then, I already knew when and where it was appropriate to refer to Uncle Luke as my father and Aunt Priscilla as my mother.

Aunt Priscilla brushed my hair gently through her fingers. "Never mind that. It's just grown-up talk," she reassured me. "I made cookies for you in the kitchen. Why don't we go and get some, okay?"

"Okay."

We were about to leave the hallway when the door opened. President Snow came out of the room first, dressed in a sophisticated suit with a rose, and greeted us. Aunt Priscilla returned the greeting sheepishly and asked if he would like any refreshments. President Snow declined and was about to be on his way when he turned to me, noticing me for the first time, and said, "Well, you must be Annie. You look just like your mother."

Aunt Priscilla thanked him, and President Snow left the house with a few Peacekeepers. But I stood there, goose bumps crawling all over my skin. Because even at ten-years-old, I knew that when President Snow said that, he didn't mean my Aunt Priscilla. We looked nothing alike. Aunt Priscilla had blond, wavy hair, brown eyes, and fair skin. I, on the other hand, couldn't have been any more different. And that's when it hit me.

_President Snow knows who I am._

Ever since that day, I have been afraid of that man.

I always wondered what he'd do with that information. Exploit me? Blackmail Uncle Luke? A thought crosses my mind. The reaping. What if it wasn't a coincidence that I just happened to be chosen? No, that can't be. There were so many slips of paper, so many names to choose from. Even if the reaping was rigged, there would have been no guarantee that I'd go along with it, especially when they are so many eager peers just dying to be reaped. Like Mari. Breath escapes my lips. _Mari._ Deciding to volunteer for the reaping at the last minute. Telling only me about it. Knowing that I would never let her go through with it. Sobbing at the Justice Building. No words. Just tears. What if…? No. I shut away that thought before it can manifest. There's no way Mari would hurt me. Not for all the money in the world. But doubt tries to creep into my mind again, mockingly weaving scenarios of my childhood friend deceiving me; I shove it aside. I won't doubt Mari. Not now when I need her most. _This is just what President Snow wants_, I try to tell myself. _I won't let him win._

When the speech is done, the chariots move towards the Training Center and once inside, the screaming and cheering becomes muffled and distant, and I am finally released from the intoxicating hold that President Snow's mere presence had on me. Reid Fischer gets off the chariot first and helps me out after. Even after reaching the sanctuary of the Training Center and away from the excited citizens of the Capitol, I still feel a few other tributes' gazes on me. And I could have sworn that during his speech, President Snow's snake-like eyes looked right at me too.

The very thought of it must have given me goose bumps again because Reid Fischer asks me if I'm cold. I reply that I'm not and ask him what he thought of the opening ceremonies. I'm not all too interested on his thoughts about it, but I might as well make conversation on our way to the elevators that will take us to our floor. Reid Fischer says how amazed he was by it and all the people. At least one of us is having a good time. He's like a child and almost reminds me of Little Todd by how excited he is over every little thing. As we wait for the elevators with the rest of the tributes, Reid Fischer adds awkwardly, "Thanks for letting me hold you too. I was getting a little nervous."

"Don't mention it," I say. Because I really do mean it.

He perks a smile. "But isn't this great? It's just different being a part of the Games, you know? To be a part of something, something like this."

I contemplate his words. To Reid Fischer, being a part of the Hunger Games is bigger than life itself. All the cameras and the cheering crowds and the costumes. It's a dream come true. But, to me, the Hunger Games is so many things. It is the obstacle that stands in the way of me returning home. It almost robbed me of my childhood friend. It represents my uncle's single regret. It is a reminder of my mother and what I might become. So, Reid Fischer can smile and be polite and happy. He may have that going for him as a strategy to win the Capitol citizens' hearts and sponsorship, but I have something that he—and possibly the rest of the tributes—don't have.

Experience.

The Hunger Games won't be the first time I've killed someone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Uncharted Waters**

_**The Hunger Games**_ **© Suzanne Collins**

* * *

><p><strong><em>(5)<em>**

* * *

><p>When we reach the fourth floor of the Training Center, the designated floor for District 4, Reid Fischer and I find Lydia, Mags, and our respective stylists waiting for us in the dining room for supper. They congratulate us with kind words and embraces, though I really feel like the credit goes to the stylists. They were the ones who got us noticed. We just stood there. My prep team takes me to my room, where they strip me of my costume, help me into a bath, and leave the clothes I had worn earlier on the train on my bed. They leave and I relax in the tub, fix the level of warmth on the button pad, and led the water ease my nerves and soak away the glitter and the make-up and the sea salt smell. I wouldn't mind bathing until my skin looked as wrinkled as Mags', but I'm famished and need something in my system.<p>

Dressing into my white blouse and flower-printed skirt, I notice that the small piece of rope is still in the skirt pocket. I was worried that when my prep team removed my clothes at the Remake Center, I'd lost this tiny memento forever. I remember that every tribute is allowed one token from home to represent their district. Maybe this could be mine. I fashion the rope into a simple bracelet around my wrist and head for the dining room, where everyone else has started eating already. My mouth waters at the sight of our supper. There are racks of lamb, sliced honey ham, salad with multiple choices of sauces, chicken-flavored soup, cream puffs, and an assortment of fruits and bread. I try everything since I barely ate on the train, including the wine that a server in a white tunic offers me. Lydia calls him an Avox. Apparently, these Avox servants are criminals, perpetually removed of their ability to speak and forced into servitude as punishment. And here I thought the Capitol was only cruel to tributes. They're also cruel to criminals too. I wonder what kind of crime justifies cutting a person's tongue out, and I hastily decide that I don't want to know.

Reid Fischer is in the middle of a conversation with his stylist about the opening ceremonies when I notice that Finnick Odair isn't among us. Usually, by now, he'd smile at me mockingly or bother me with questions that I cannot fathom an answer to. "We're one person short," I say.

Lydia swallows a piece of lamb before answering. "Finnick left early for some previous engagement before the opening ceremonies," she tells me. "I'm sure he'll return in the next few hours, but it's rather unprofessional of him to be running off when he should be mentoring you two."

"Oh, I see," I reply, feigning disinterest. Finnick Odair probably has his reasons, but Lydia does have a point. With Mags not being the most coherent mentor around, I was hoping Finnick Odair would comment on the opening ceremonies, critique us on what we could have done better, and advise us on strategies for training tomorrow. But he's not here and I'm annoyed and rattled by the stunt he pulled. Does he leave a lot without so much as a word and ultimately forces his job onto Mags and his tributes to fend for themselves? A small part of me wants to justify his reasons or defend him since I don't even know Finnick Odair and shouldn't judge him so rashly, but what's the point of having a mentor if he's not mentoring us?

After dinner, we all end up in the sitting room and converse a while longer. I notice Mags leaving the room for a minute to give Reid Fischer a brown sack. Reid Fischer thanks her and stuffs it into his pocket. I wonder what it is and why I didn't get one too. I don't think Mags is the type to play favorites, but no one seems to pay any attention to this so I try not to either. As evening hours begin to wane, the stylists and Lydia retire early. Mags does the same after talking to Reid Fischer and me, either about the opening ceremonies or training tomorrow, I can't tell which, and Reid Fischer and I are left to our own devices.

"What did Mags give you?" I ask, eying him.

Reid Fischer laughs lightly. "Some materials. Like seaweed and other things," he explains, shrugging. "I want to try to make fishhooks out of them like she does. It might come in handy for the Games."

"Oh." I hadn't really thought about how I'd scavenge for food. I figure I'd just eat berries or trap any animal that comes my way, but surely there would be water somewhere in the arena. If not, everyone would die of dehydration, and that wouldn't be very entertaining. Perhaps, I'm underestimating my co-tribute. He clearly has other things on his mind other than enjoying himself. "Think you can teach me once you got it figured out?"

"Sure," he agrees. The conversation dies after that, and I kind of feel like going to my room too so I can stretch and perform some exercises before bed. Before I can get up to leave, Reid Fischer asks, "Do you want to check out the balcony? It has a great view." I want to reject Reid Fischer's offer. After all, I didn't come here to make friends. I came here to win. But I've never been on a balcony before, so I end up agreeing on a whim. We enter the balcony from the dining room, and the sight leaves me speechless. The evening lights of the Capitol glistens like stars in the night sky. I rest my elbows against the railing and take in the moment. It's strange how a place that seemed so scary can look so serene.

"I wish I could live here," Reid Fischer says suddenly.

"Here? In the Capitol?" I glance at him, puzzled.

"Look how lively and happy everyone is." I look below at the people making conversation and laughter. Everyone seems to be having a good time. "There's no anger or sadness or pain," he says. "Just happy people who don't have a care in the world."

Of course, they don't have a care in the world. They're not the ones who have to compete in the Games. They're not the ones who lose their children, their siblings, their friends, or their loved ones to a mass-slaughter for fame and fortune. The Capitol is the unassuming audience, and we are forced to kill each other for their entertainment. I forget the pretty lights of the Capitol and only remember my mother, my hauntingly beautiful and dead mother, and I am reminded of why I'd been running from these Games for so long and why I decided to face it now.

"I think I should sleep soon," I say quietly. "We do have training tomorrow."

He blinks as though he had forgotten. "Right," he agrees. "Good night."

"… Night."

As I pass the elevators, I unravel my piece of rope and begin knotting it on the way, trying to distract myself. How can Reid Fischer see the Capitol with such an incessantly positive outlook? He knows what the Hunger Games is and what it does to people. So, why all this praise and excitement? I exhale. And he should really stop with the nice and pleasant act because it won't get him anywhere in the Games, and it certainly won't get him anywhere with me. I don't see why on earth he'd want to be friends with someone who's planning on killing him. As I unravel a knot, hands encircle me from behind and create a knot in an even more complicated and advanced fashion. I flinch at the unfamiliar closeness and I'm about to protest when my hesitation soon melts into awe as I observe the quickness, firmness, and detail of the knot. Then I hear the voice of the person behind me.

"Keep up with the vulnerable, innocent act. The crowd's eating up your mysterious martyr image."

I quickly turn around, almost losing my balance in the process, as I come face to face with Finnick Odair. I try to speak, but all I manage to muster out in the end is, "Ah. You."

"So, you're talking to me now," Finnick Odair smirks, apparently even taking a two-word reply that makes little to no sense with good grace. "Does that mean you missed me?"

The mere suggestion makes my cheeks burn and I turn away, hoping that my long, dark hair covers my flustered face. "You're late," I mutter in an attempt to change the subject.

"Don't be jealous, Annie," he reassures me, patting my head. "I had business to attend to."

I raise an eyebrow. "Sponsors?" I ask.

"Something like that," he replies.

I guess I can't be too angry with Finnick Odair if he was just doing his job. I soften and finally face him, and it's only then that I notice that while he is wearing the same clothes he wore on the train, his hair is wet. Strands of bronze hair stick to his forehead and cheeks. It couldn't have been raining, and he couldn't have just taken a shower. He just got back so there'd be no point getting into used clothes before bed. I come to the conclusion that Finnick Odair must have his own place in the Capitol for his annual visits. It wouldn't be too much of a surprise. He is a celebrity when it comes to the Capitol.

But, to me, he is my mentor. "Training starts tomorrow," I mention. "Do you have any advice?"

"Practice your knot-tying."

"I'm serious," I say, trying to take my rope from him.

"So am I," Finnick Odair says, lifting the rope away so I can't reach it. "They'll give you stations to try out different weapons and materials, including knot-tying. Take your time and try everything. If there's something you're good at, don't flaunt it until the private interviews. And don't be intimidated by the competition. Most of them have never wielded a weapon before. They'll be easy kill. But take everyone and everything into consideration. Remember their strengths, their weaknesses. The ones you really have to look out for are District One and District Two tributes because they've been trained just like you. Make an alliance with them. They'll expect you to be in their alliance anyway, so go along with it until it's time to take them down."

I listen to Finnick Odair very carefully, and I cannot help but feel impressed. This must be how he won his Hunger Games, aside from his looks, the help of his sponsors, and his skills. Finnick Odair calculates his options and thinks things through. He was always one step ahead of his competition. He made an alliance with the tributes from District 1 and District 2 because it was expected from him and only deviated from the plan once it offered nothing for him in exchange. Getting that trident from his sponsors must have helped too, but it was his wit and quick-planning that enabled him to ensnare his enemies and kill them off one by one. I regret having doubted him. So what if he's District 4's heartthrob? And so what if he doesn't have the best track record? Finnick Odair might truly be my only chance of surviving this twisted game. If I want to survive, I'll have to trust him.

He leans in towards me observantly and places my small piece of rope in my hands. "Don't look so surprised, Annie. There's a reason why I'm a victor."

"No, I…" Upon realizing our close proximity, I take a step back, shaking my head. "I was just thinking that I had you all figured out. I guess not," I say with a hint of a laugh. "Thank you… Finnick."

Maybe it is my imagination, but I think I see Finnick crack a smile.

It is still dark when I wake up the next day. I stretch my limbs and exercise like I wanted to do last night before showering and choosing my outfit. I end up with a long, blue tank top that falls to my knees, grey cotton leggings, and short, dark brown boots that rise just above my ankles. I take a warm shower and dress into my training garb. It's rather simple and I like it. The point of yesterday's costume was to stand out and impress viewers and sponsors alike. Today, and for the next two days, it will be my skills that will have to make an impression. I wrap half of my hair up like I did during the reaping and tie my token rope around my wrist.

I eat breakfast with Reid Fischer and Mags before Lydia arrives to take us to the training rooms below ground level. Before we leave, Mags tells me something about eating plants. For a second, I think Mags actually wants me to eat plants when I remember Finnick talking about how there would be different stations during training. Maybe there's a station on which plants are edible.

We arrive at the training rooms, where a quarter of the tributes are already waiting. I don't recognize them from the reaping recap, so they must be from the reapings I didn't pay attention to—District 1 through District 3. Reid Fischer and I have our district number pinned to our backs and as I stand among our adversaries, I notice that Reid Fischer isn't standing next to me. He's talking at the entrance with our training advisor. I frown. Does he really have to put up this nice act with everyone? By the time all the tributes are present and accounted for, we are instructed by our training advisor on the rules and regulations of the training stations. We are not allowed to attack another tribute directly; there will be people we can practice with for that. The Gamemakers will also be monitoring our progress. This must be why Finnick doesn't want us to reveal whatever we're good at during training. Not only would we be exploiting our strong points to our enemies, but we wouldn't really be catching the Gamemakers by surprise either.

Once we're dismissed for stations, Reid Fischer turns to me. "What do you want to do?" he asks amiably.

Finnick's strategy rings loud in my head, but so does Mags' advice since she went through the trouble of suggesting the edible plants station. "We should try everything," I suggest. "We might learn something new here, and everyone's crowding the weapons, anyway. We can do that last and make an impression on District One and District Two."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why? Finnick said—" It occurs to me that Finnick might not have informed Reid Fischer about his plan. "Finnick wants us to make an alliance with them," I tell him under my breath. "For the Games." Reid Fischer glances at the District 1 and District 2 tributes, and for a second, I think I see him pale and I don't blame him. It's understandable considering they all physically surpass him. Even I'm a little uneasy after seeing the boy from District 2 effortlessly slicing the head of a training dummy off with a sword. "Don't be intimidated by them," I whisper.

Reid Fischer grins. "No, it's not that. Look at the way they use the swords and the spears. They're amazing!" he says encouragingly. "I wonder if we can learn a thing or two from them."

Well, if there's one thing Reid Fischer can do, it's looking on the bright side of any situation. "Let's try the plant station first."

One of the classes in the academy was specifically on plant knowledge, so I'm able to classify the berries and plants that are on display and know which ones are edible or not. I nibble on a berry as I skim through a book full of plant information, and I come across a berry I don't recognize. The trainer explains that it's called nightlock, a poisonous berry that will kill whatever and whoever eats it. I gulp and mentally remind myself to avoid this type of berry at all costs. Reid Fischer seems more interested in eating the edible berries presented than learning about the ones that could kill him. I purse my lips. Maybe Reid Fischer won't be killed by me or the other tributes. Maybe he'll die from nightlock. That'd be a fast and painless way to go.

_Practice your knot-tying_, Finnick's voice echoes in my ear, so we end up at the knot-tying station next. The trainer teaches us different knots to use during the Games, like how to create a net from vines to ensnare prey or our competitors. I spend a great deal of time here rigorously trying to master several of the different knots while Reid Fischer knots a net together. We go from camouflage to fire-making to archery, working our way through each station until lunch is served.

Most of the tributes sit alone for lunch. At one of the tables, I see the twelve-year-old boy from District 9 and the memory of him being dragged to the stage by Peacekeepers surfaces in my head. My hurts aches a little. He won't have a chance, will he? But then again, most of the tributes won't. The tributes from District 1 and District 2 slide their tables together, forming a nestled pack. An alliance. They glance at Reid Fischer and me expectedly, just as Finnick predicted, and we end up joining them for lunch. I finally learn their names. The District 1 tributes are Lux and Mascara, and the District 2 tributes are Crim and Abby. Mascara is perky and very talkative and she reminds me of Cecilia Haven, but I think she's the only one in our alliance that actually likes me. She latches onto me as friendship material the moment I sit at their table and gushes over my costume from the opening ceremonies. I compliment hers too just to be polite. Reid Fischer eats his food and tries to make conversation with Lux, who is itching for another round at the weapons and starts stabbing his food. Crim keeps staring at me. I recognize him as one of the tributes who kept ogling me before the opening ceremonies. He stared at me during training right before beheading that dummy too. Abby scowls at me with every opportunity and hisses inaudible words to Crim. She definitely doesn't like me, but I don't need her to.

There is no trust between allies. Only tentative cooperation.

After lunch, we resume training for the next few hours, and Reid Fischer and I join Lux, Mascara, Crim, and Abby at the main weaponry. Swords, spears, knives, and maces, among others. There are so many weapons at our disposal. I check out each one, weighing them in my hands. I'm proficient with knives, so I decide to avoid them for now and go on to spear-throwing with Mascara instead. Mascara isn't too shabby with a spear, so I store this in my head for later. In the corner of my eye, I see Reid Fischer trying out one of the swords. His grip is too flimsy and his strikes at the training dummy are shallow, and he wears out easily after the first few hits. In spite of this, he continues with his perpetual optimistic towards any misfortune that seems to come his way. I knew Reid Fischer would be at a disadvantage, and though I try not to sympathize with him, I feel bad for the look he's getting from Lux and the sneer he's getting from Abby.

_He's easy prey_, they must be thinking. They relish at the opportunity of killing him once the Games start.

_Don't feel bad. Don't care_, I tell myself. _I'm no different._ During the reaping, I was glad I didn't know Reid Fischer and thought he would be an easy kill too. But I am provoked by Lux and Abby and find myself walking over to Reid Fischer and helping him with his sword. "Put some strength into your strikes," I say, touching his arm. "You'll barely get into the flesh if you don't put more of yourself into it."

Reid Fischer nods and follows my instruction, slicing his training dummy half way into its belly. He is short of breath and stares at the dummy for a moment, taking in his fake kill, before turning to me and smiling. My guard lowers and I allow myself to smile back.

We are interrupted when we both hear a cry that fills the air and turn to find Crim nearly knocking out an assistant with the blunt end of a sword. He looks over his shoulder right at me, and my skin is crawling. _He's trying to psyche me out_, I realize. And it's working. From the look of the assistant's anguished expression as he's helped up from the mat by two other assistants, Crim must have dealt more blows to him than just a strike to the head. I make a mental note to take down Crim first once the alliance falls apart. In the alliance, he's the most dangerous. Abby may hate my guts and Lux is blood-lusting, but it's Crim who worries me the most.

He's unpredictable.

Which makes him the worst kind of enemy.


End file.
